Veteran Bracket Semi Finals: Christoph vs. Bloodrose

[Tainted Bushido]

This fight will begin 10/5/2009 at 12:00 AM PST. I wish both Contestants the best of luck, and for a good fight.

[Bloodrose]

Bunnying is approved for the duration of this thread. Also, this fight should be considered an official Dajas Pagoda battle for the Grandmaster position, in addition to serving as our tournament battle.

Teric's eyes poured over the crisp, white parchment in his hands once more. The words scrawled in black ink were already emblazoned in the veteran's memory, but he read them again and again as if captivated by them...

Esteemed Grandmaster,

Master Elijah Belov has issued a challenge, and wishes to assume your position within the Hierarchy. You will report to your arena tomorrow, at noon, to defend your position. Failure to appear will result in immediate disqualification, and you will be summarily dismissed from the Pagoda.

Sincerely,

Frederick Pell
Challenges Clerk
Dajas Pagoda

The mercenary kept coming back to just two short phrases contained within that single paragraph.

...'in immediate disqualification'...'summarily dismissed'...

"You don't want me to show up, do you?" Teric asked the letter as if he were addressing the monks who watched over his tenuous reign as Grandmaster. There was no love lost between him and them; Grandmaster and Pagoda staff. The monks disliked that he often disappeared for months at a time without their leave to do so. They disliked that he'd erected his arena outside the Pagoda walls - outside the paranormal influences of their magic - where the victor was determined by sheer brawn and courage alone. Most of all, they disliked the utter disdain their patriarch showed for his fellow Hierarchs. "You'd just looove to be rid of me..."

Teric folded the letter into thirds and discarded it atop the bar at the Waiting Sailor, a pint of ale quickly assuming the paper's place in his hand. Edging up to the counter, leaning heavily on his elbows, the mercenary drowned the sour look on his face with a long draught of the hop-infused beverage. At the same time he took after the local watering hole's name, and waited.

He was waiting for this Elijah Belov character; the only man since Godhand Striker to find the balls big enough and brave enough to challenge the Grandmaster for the position of top dog. While more a courtesy than a requirement, Teric had agreed to meet with the young man before their bout for one very strategic reason: he wanted to size the boy up before they entered the ring. Had he already known anything about the Master, the mercenary would have likely foregone this meeting so as not to give Elijah the same opportunity. As it was though, the monks of the Pagoda weren't exactly wrong in their assessment if the Grandmaster.

Teric didn't respect any of his peers there - not even enough to know who they really were these days.

Spinning on his barstool, Teric comforted himself with ale and kept himself occupied with taking stock of his surroundings.

The Waiting Sailor was fairly small and cozy as far as taverns went. It was a single narrow room with the bar stretching down the length of the right-hand wall, while booths ran back-to-back down the left-hand wall. A narrow carpeted aisle ran between the two, and a single serving girl plied up and down the length of the bar with a beer laden tray. It was the sort of establishment that really could have been something if it was polished up with a little class and nice hardwoods, but everything here was crafted from cheap, untreated lumber. The clientele was your typical rag-tag mob of dockworkers, shopkeepers, and drunks - some falling into more of those categories than others - but the noise was kept to a surprising minimum here. Teric surmised it was the booth style format the establishment had chosen to best utilize its narrow footprint; it wasn't the sort of floor plan that lent itself well to patrons shouting and jeering at each other from across the room. No, each little group of paying customers kept to themselves here, isolated in their booths from the rest of the world.

Come on, Elijah. Bored with staring at other customers, Teric swung back around on his stool and resumed leaning on the bar his head in his hands. The barkeeper gave him a questioning look, but Teric simple nodded his chin at the half-full pint in front of him and the man went about other business.

The boy's got until I finish this glass to get here. Teric decided impatiently. If he doesn't show, I'll just have to take my chances with him tomorrow.

[Christoph]

“Are you sure this is wise, Eli?” asked Sarah, her round spectacles peering over the small stack of parchments in her hands. Several feet away, Elijah continued a strange sporadic sword kata, looking somewhat ridiculous by doing it in his infamous white chef coat. A dozen meters from them, the waves crashed against the beach in a melodic rhythm. The Pagoda Master didn’t respond at first. “Elijah.”

The notorious Hierarch stopped mid-motion and groaned, opening his eyes and giving his companion a weary glance. He’d known Sarah for two months, but he still didn’t quite know quite what to think of her. It wasn’t that she defied classification, but rather that her classification seemed to shift faster than the phases of the moon.

They had first met after Elijah defeated a prominent Warrior to gain his position within the hierarchy, bubbling with flattery and overenthusiastic interest in his career. She played the role of a sycophant, albeit a cute one; he was partial to blonde-haired women, so it worked out. Eventually, he concluded that she wasn’t a stalker, most of the time, and he came to trust her a bit more, as well as realize that she wouldn’t be going away, he moved her up a step in his regard to the personal rank of ‘helper’. From there, she rose to the classification of ‘trusted helper’, and when she expressed her eager interest in arcane studies, she even became his student – apprentice, even. During one poorly thought-out moment in a tavern a week before, he even classified her as a good kisser. For the past twenty minutes, however, only the word ‘annoying’ came to mind.

“Fine, since you’re so intent on pestering me about this until I pay attention,” he began, irritation flashing in his gaze. “Why in the world would challenging the Grandmaster of the Pagoda be unwise? Isn’t that what every hierarch and challenger aspires to?”

“Well yes, in theory,” she replied, readjusting her glasses and generally shrugging off Elijah’s annoyance. Despite her meek and scholarly demeanor, she had an admirable nerve. She would speak carefully and eloquently, but never timidly. “But doesn’t it strike you as peculiar that the Pagoda monks practically begged you to issue this challenge? You’ve said so yourself that you’re not particularly popular with the management. It feels too much like a set up; it’s highly unlikely that they have your best interests in mind.”

“I don’t imagine that they do, either,” the former chef sighed, stabbing his sword into the ground. “They haven’t exactly liked me ever since I started burning all of my challengers to cinders within the first few seconds. Something about how it ‘was not conducive to the challenger’s learning’ or some such nonsense. I never broke any rules. Beyond that, I don’t care about propriety in the Pagoda.”

“And don’t forget how you challenged Travis Kiltias less than a week after his promotion to Master, and disgraced him by defeating him in two minutes without a weapon,” said Sarah. She giggled and circled behind him. “‘Oh, that big bad infamous upstart Elijah Belov; he disregards his challengers, disrespects the institution, and bullies his felling Hierarchs. Whatever will we do with him?’” She slid her hands up his back and began rubbing his shoulders, leaning in close to his face. “‘I know, let’s play his pride and convince him to challenge Grandmaster Bloodrose. We can set him up to lose, to humiliate him and knock him down a few pegs. It’ll even teach him to respect his elders.’”

“Mmmh… I say, if I didn’t know any better, I would say that you were trying to seduce me,” said Elijah, giving an appreciative moan under Sarah’s surprisingly talented hands. He grinned. “That would of course be very inappropriate, given our whole… master-apprentice thing.”

“And here I thought you said that you didn’t care about impropriety,” she teased, sliding her arms mischievously around his neck.

“In the Pagoda, yes. Ancient, hallowed temples of sword and magic are one thing, but women? Not so much.” He stepped away from her grasp, albeit reluctantly.

“Oh fine, ruin my fun,” she grumbled, playfully hitting his arm. “No need to worry about me seducing you. We all know how well that happened last time.” Elijah groaned, and Sarah gave a predatory smile. “But you know it wasn’t all that bad.”

“Yes, yes.” He rolled his eyes. “Silly banter aside, I’ve already considered your concerns. On the whole, I’m not terribly worried about the monks having it out for me. From what I’ve heard, Grandmaster Bloodrose is at least equally unpopular with them, and suffice it to say, the feeling is mutual. Chances are, they know that I’m the only prospective challenger with a realistic chance, and they see me as a lesser of two evils. If anything, this is probably all about drawing attention to the Pagoda again. Few people care about this place anymore, and the Monks know it.”

“So they’ve determined that youthful bombastic irresponsibility is preferable to the Grandmaster’s complete contempt for the institution?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. She did that often; Elijah didn’t know whether he found it endearing because he was prone to that same mannerism, or if it irritated him for the very same reason. “More likely, they see this merely as a win-win situation no matter the outcome. No matter what, they draw in huge crowds and get the attention they crave. If you win, sure they get rid of the current Grandmaster. If you lose, they watch you get humiliated in front of half of Scara Brae City.”

“So… it’s a fair fight, then,” stated Elijah with a trivializing gesture. He pulled his sword from the ground and finding it without a speck of dirt on it; his blade never ceased to both amaze and unnerve him. “I’m glad we sorted this out.”

“It’s not just that.”

“Isn’t it now?” the Master asked, sheathing his sword and crossing his arms. He raised an eyebrow, wondering if his gesture had the same effect on her as hers did on him.

“Not to call your prowess into question, oh master, but are you sure you're good enough to defeat Teric Bloodrose in a fair fight?” She leafed though her stack of papers. “I’ve done some research. I’m not sure that you realize who you’re fighting. Bloodrose is one of the most formidable Grandmasters in Dajas Pagoda history. He’s a veteran who has been fighting since before either of us was born. He’s disciplined and iron-willed. Your typical snarky antics won’t throw him off guard.”

The former chef sighed dismissively. “Yes, I know. He’s very, very good for an old man.”

“He’s more than, Elijah!” she snapped, exasperated. She shoved a parchment in his face. “He’s superhuman! In strength, speed, and pure toughness, he far, far exceeds mortal standards.”

“Well, so do I,” the Hierarch replied with a shrug.

“He does it without magic,” she retorted.

“Touché, “ he said, glancing at the parchment for a brief moment before handing it back. “Is that all? I swear, you’re more worried than I am, and I’m the one fighting tomorrow.”

“But you don’t worry,” she sighed. “Have you heard some of the things they say about him?” She fished out another tan sheet. “Rumor has it that he only sleeps once a week, that magic dies in his presence, and that his bones never break no matter what.”

“Oh please, do you want to hear some of the rumors circulating about me?” Elijah laughed. “Apparently, I bleed fire, make love to Sirens, and once burned down a town because I didn’t like the name. They even say that beautiful young scholar once tried to seduce me in exchange for my tutelage. ...Granted, some of those rumors might possess a grain of truth.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes.

“You’d already agreed to teach me by that point.”

“Details.”

“Listen, all I’m saying is that this might be a bit soon,” she sighed, removing her glasses to rub her eyes. “Bloodrose will be a very difficult opponent, and I’m worried that you might not be ready. Are you sure that right now is a wise time to do this?”

“Right now, as in at sunset today?” he asked, intent on following through with some silly remark. He stopped short, though. “Wait, sunset? Damn it! I’m going to be late!” He immediately began packing up his few belongings with frantic haste.

“Not that I’m surprised by the fact that you’re late for something, what exactly are you late for?”

“I’m supposed to meet Teric at the Waiting Sailor. You know, to be polite and get to know each other before the fight,” he answered.

“Wait, you’re meeting him before the fight?” Sarah asked as Elijah shouldered his pack. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Don’t even start that again,” he snapped, laughing in spite of his attempted irritation. Without another word, he sprinted into the city.

* * * * *

Elijah found the Waiting Sailor easily enough; he had chosen it specifically because he frequented the quiet, humble establishment. Even so, the sun had almost completely vanished by time he arrived under the plaque of a seaman leaning on a wooden barrel.

Please still be there. The last thing he wanted was to come off as a lazy time-waster. Though they had never met in person, the chef turned Hierarch felt a certain amount of respect and odd camaraderie with the old Grandmaster. Both seemed to see the Dajas Pagoda as stepping-stones in their lives, rather than the end goal, and both didn’t care a bit about what the Monks thought of them.

The Hierarch entered the tavern and inhaled the heady rush of warm air, thick with the smell of ale and rendered fat. A fireplace crackled in the corner. He waved to the bartender, the barmaid, and a couple of dirty-minded old sailors in the corner that he’d met the month before. They all waved back, save for the barmaid, whose hands were occupied by a pair of trays. He scanned the tables and bar, looking for a grizzled, ill-tempered old man. While that proved inefficient given that most of the clientele fit that description, Elijah spotted a man even more grizzled than the rest sitting impatiently on a barstool. He strode over without hesitation.

“You know what I like, Cedric,” he said to the barkeep. "The good stuff from Salvar." A taste of home, he would say.

“Three bottles of Hanslev Mountain Ale, coming up!”

Elijah nodded and turned to the gruff old Hierarch. “Ah, Grandmaster Bloodrose,” he said, offering his hand. His words were formal, but his tone possessed a friendlier and more casual quality. “I apologize for my lateness; I was working with a student and lost track of time. It’s good to finally meet you.”

[Bloodrose]

Elijah's dialogue provided by Christoph.

The Challenger, Elijah Belov, swooped into the Waiting Sailor with all the charisma and confidence of a true regular; it was obvious that he'd frequented this establishment before. There was some waving and looking about, but it didn't seem to take the younger man very long at all to pick out Teric waiting at the bar. He strolled over with little fanfare, chatting up the barman on his way along the pine counter, and stopping to immediately offer an apology for being late.

Teric didn't really catch much of the apology. After waiting for a little while, his brain was busy becoming alert enough to start picking up on the little tidbits of information Elijah was already dropping. Pieces of information that could prove crucial in defeating the talented (one would imagine) young Master.

Hanslev Mountain Ale.

"Do you know much of Salvar, or do you just like the beer?" Teric offered as means of conversation immediately. It wasn't much of a loaded question - good for getting the younger man talking, but Teric was confident that it was the sort of question that might encourage his challenger to first reveal where he was from.

People from Salvar fought differently from people in Corone. Fallien different from Raiaera, etc...

"I don't have much of the accent anymore, do I? Salvar is my homeland." Elijah replied simply.

Teric nodded, casually taking another sip of the beer he'd been nursing for close to twenty minutes to suppress a smile. It seems my challenger and I have at least one thing in common. The mercenary was thinking. The fact that he was also from Salvar gave the Grandmaster a great sense of confidence. I should be able to peg his general fighting style, assuming I can figure out where...

"I see. Are you a city boy, or do you hail more from the States?" Teric's thought drifted off as the question rolled off his tongue.

"I like to think that I have a bit of both in me. I grew up in a small town near the city of Archen, but I spent as much time in the city as I did in the mountains." Elijah was interrupted by the barman stopping to drop off three brown glass bottles quickly dotting with condensation. There was a moment of silence as the two men hung out by the bar, casually sipping at their respective drinks as the hum of conversation in the bar carried on around them. While the silence lingered, Teric was busily sizing up the man who was going to try and take his title.

Funny how he avoided really answering that question. The veteran pondered. Committing to neither the States nor the cities. Thus leaving me with little to go on other than 'Salvar'. Breaking from worrying about the man's fighting style, Teric focused for a minute on physical characteristics.

He reminds me a lot of myself when I was his age. Physically at least. Teric found himself thinking as he noted that he and Elijah were very similar in height and weight. The younger man was solidly built and broad of shoulder, much like the older mercenary. The only thing separating Elijah from a mirror image of Teric thirty years ago, really, was the clean shaven - if a bit scruffy - face and the thick mop of brown hair.

"That's an interesting coat you're wearing. Pretty uncommon for a fighter." Teric decided to break the silence at last, choosing for no reason at all to call attention to Elijah's white chef jacket. It was the sort of attire you expected to see on line cooks in some of Radasanth's larger culinary establishments; not on a Master of the Dajas Pagoda.

"I like to think that a wise fighter wears what's comfortable and familiar, but it's more habit than anything else, and a nostalgic reminder to my former career." Elijah replied. The younger man finally decided to take a seat, settling himself onto the stool next to Teric.

"So you haven't always been a fighter?" The next question Teric let fly was probably the most loaded inquiry yet. There were little things about the way the younger man sitting next to him replied to his questions that made Teric start formulating various assumptions. People didn't just happen to put on a chef's jacket one day and decide it was comfortable; Elijah had picked up the habit of wearing the item somewhere.

"Well, that depends on how you look at it. I've been in more than my share of barroom brawls over the years. Swordsmanship was more of a hobby up until I left home."

Teric's eyes narrowed as Elijah either inadvertently or very cleverly avoided the meat of the question; the second time so far that he had sidestepped giving a direct answer. The Grandmaster was hoping for a reply along the lines of 'Oh yeah, I was a cook until a year ago' - something that would have given the older man a good idea of just how experienced Elijah was in a fight. The fact that the man was a Master of the Dajas Pagoda was a fairly decent indicator, but Teric was hoping to hear from Elijah himself just how proficient he was.

He strikes me as being a clever boy. Teric found himself thinking. He's dodging my questions on purpose.

Growing a bit weary of the relatively banal conversation so far, Teric opted to move their little social call along a bit more rapidly. He didn't even try any longer to hide the fact that he was fishing for information when he asked "So you fight mainly with your sword?"

There was a smile from Elijah. A toothy, knowing smile that gave Teric a distinctly predatory impression.

"To be honest, the sword is just for show. I'm actually one of the most powerful sorcerers in the known world. I'm surprised you didn't know that." The young Master said with a straight face. Both men stared at each other for a moment, letting that statement sink in.

"I think if you were one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, I would have heard of you before today." Teric replied almost sarcastically. For a moment Elijah's statement had set him on edge - mostly due to Teric's almost phobic dislike of magic users - but there was that look in the Master's eye. That confident I know what you're doing, and I'm going to fuck with you look. It was becoming fairly obvious that this whole information gathering expedition he was trying to play with Elijah was going to go nowhere. The boy was smart - too smart to just give stuff away for free.

"Given that you apparently only met me here to interrogate me regarding my proficiencies, I'm not entirely convinced that you would have." Elijah retorted. He took a sip of his beer and raised his eyebrows knowingly. His tone was still friendly, his face still smiling, but there was a snarkiness forming on the back of the Master's tongue as the conversation began to drift away from general pleasantries and more towards the real reason they were here. "You don't even pay enough attention to your fellow Hierarchs to know whether I fought with a sword or not. I could be a demi-god for all you know."

"And if you were a demi-god, I think you'd have better things to do with your time than challenge an old man to a fight." Teric retorted with equal snarkiness, finishing what remained of his drink and sliding the empty pint down the bar. The Grandmaster swung around on his stool to square his shoulders with Elijah, eyeing the younger man on even ground.

"This leads me, interestingly enough, to my next question. Why did you challenge me? The monks put you up to this?"

[Christoph]

All bunnies FDA approved.

Elijah had considered making up some story or giving another intentionally vague answer. In the end though, he decided on the truth. For one, it was less effort. Secondly, as much as he found amusement in cleverly deflecting the old man’s queries, he would never be able to turn the conversation around and learn something about Bloodrose unless he actually offer some real answers. Besides, he didn’t want to waste the entire evening on a subtle verbal spar.

“Challenging you was already a goal, of course,” he replied at last, twirling his ale in its bottle. “But… let's just say that the monks... offered encouragement. I'm honestly not entirely sure of their motives, but I'm pretty certain that they have it out for one of us. The question is which one.”

“Well, I don't know what you've done to raise their ire,” said Teric. “But let's just say I've given them plenty of reason during my reign for them to want rid of me.”

The young master chuckled, shaking his head. “They certainly don't care for me, either,” he laughed, taking a healthy swig of his ale. It had a uniquely nutty aftertaste that reminded him of mountains in summer. “Where word has it that you generally disregard the institution itself, they seem to think that I disregard my challengers. In other words, I don't play around before dispatching them. Apparently, I'm supposed to hold back and take it easy on everyone who walks into my arena. Somehow that's supposed to help them learn, or some such nonsense.”

“Well I don't think they'll have reason to fault you tomorrow.” The old Grandmaster had a hint of almost smug assuredness. Here was a man who had no doubts about his prowess. “Holding back against me would be... inadvisable”

“Is that so?” Eli asked, flashing a lopsided smirk. “Conversely, holding back against me would be a fantastic strategy. You couldn't go wrong, because then you'll have an excuse after you lose.”

Teric laughed out loud. It was as gruff and gravelly as the man, but equally good-natured. “I hope you've got the chops to back up confidence like that. I'll be sorely disappointed if my first challenger in months fails to deliver anything more than bold words.”

Elijah laughed as well, stopping only to drain the last contents of his first bottle and start the second. “It’s funny for you to say that, since I hear your last opponent was very well known for his bold words,” he pointed out. “So much so that I'm somewhat meek and reserved in comparison.”

“I think even a peacock would seem meek and reserved when compared to the likes of Godhand Striker,” Teric replied. “To his credit, however, the man had the reputation and the prowess necessary to warrant such a flamboyant personality; and that's all I'm really interested in. I originally came to the Pagoda to fight the best warriors in the world, because that is what the monks claimed to offer. So far Godhand Striker has been the only man to come close to satisfying the terms of that offer, and thus my disdain for this place." He paused and gave Elijah a look that could almost be considered hopeful. "I'm counting on you to be the second. Otherwise this has all been a colossal waste of my time."

“You just want a challenge,” replied Elijah with a knowing nod. “I can respect that. I'm young, and I admit that I still have a lot to prove; that's why I'm here. You don't strike me as a man with anything to prove.”

“Not to anyone else, I suppose.” Teric shrugged. “I used to think I fought to prove to myself that I'm still alive; that I could still cut it despite my years. These days, I'm not so sure what I fight for.”

“Fun?” the Master asked. He smirked and the Grandmaster laughed quietly. “I know, it sounds silly, but it's the truth, isn't it? Not real battle, obviously. Anyone who's been in real battle knows that it's not fun. But the Pagoda? It's combat without consequences. It's the ultimate contest between men without the risk of getting killed, crippled, or maimed. It's okay to admit that it's at least a little fun.”

“I suppose so,” Bloodrose replied. Had the Grandmaster already dismissed the notion, or was he still pondering it?

Elijah turned to the bartender. “He ‘suppose so’,” he muttered. Cedric shrugged and retreated to the other end of the counter. “I don’t know about you. Maybe it’s that beer you’re drinking.” The young Hierarch slid his last full bottle of Hanslev ale over to the Grandmaster. “You should try this. It was originally brewed for grizzled old anti-social mountain men. You'll love it.” Might as well enjoy the night, he decided, because the morning would bring an entirely different sort of ‘fun’.

* * * * *

“And without further delay, I present the challenger: Elijah Belov!” boomed the announcer. A deafening roar exploded from the packed stands of the Grandmaster’s stadium as crowds cheered and shouted with excited anticipation. The banging of gongs, the beating of drums, and the bold fanfare of trumpets ascended above the thunderous horde of spectators as Elijah entered the dusty arena. “On this momentous morning, the Pagoda’s most powerful master seeks to make history by becoming the youngest Grandmaster ever.” And so the hype continued. He even spotted Sarah standing on a packed bleacher, grinning and waving a stick with a white chef hat dangling from a piece of string at the end.

Elijah hoped that nobody noticed him chuckle or roll his eyes. For months, the Dajas Pagoda had stood mostly unnoticed, and they were apparently trying to make up for it by selling this fight as hard as they could. Being a natural showman, he didn’t mind at all, nor did the ecstatic crowds. They had been waiting months for a good fight, and they all looked to the challenger to deliver.

For once in his career, the young Master actually looked the part. He’d removed his chef coat before entering the arena, proudly displaying an unnaturally symmetrical network of scars that covered his lean arms and torso like swirling flame. They were scars left behind by his fiery powers, the marks of his magic, and the price he paid for his growing supernatural might. Vicious clawed prevalida gauntlets encased his hands and forearms like second skin, bolstering his strength with their potent enchantments. A dark blue ring circled his left middle finger, barely visible overtop of the gauntlet. It pulsed with stored kinetic force, which could be released in a devastating burst with a thought. His sword completed his arcane arsenal. The objects hummed silently as he attuned them to his will.

He raised his sword in the air, catching a glint of sunlight. The crowds cheered mildly, until the challenger hurled a large ball of flame high into the air. The stands went quiet as it streaked upward. At its peak, it burst into hundreds of fluttering embers, which swirled above the stadium like fiery butterflies; the stadium shook with applause.

While showboating didn’t need an excuse, it did allow him a chance to perform some more utilitarian arcane tasks while the narrator stalled and the audience’s attention remained focused upward. He stabbed his blade into the ground, knelt down, and pressed his armored palms into sandy dirt. His consciousness delved into the arena’s simple floor, and for that moment he knew it as intimately as he would a brother or lover. He could feel the thrill and pain of combat, and the scorn of the Monks toward the arena that existed beyond their direct control. He could almost see and hear the epic clash that took place between Godhand Striker and the Grandmaster.

Quickly, the young sorcerer laced his will through the dirt and sand, transmuting the grainy, mundane soil material into an exotic, highly flammable substance that he’d found and studied in Fallien. He forced tendrils of magic across the arena, all the way to the entrance on the far side, creating a nearly invisible spiraling pattern with the volatile material along the surface. When the time was right, Bloodrose would get a rather explosive surprise.

[Bloodrose]

"Weighing in at one hundred and seventy-six pounds, standing exactly six feet tall..." the announcer was carrying on, his voice amplified by the funnel-shaped bullhorn held to his lips. As he was talking, the old veteran he was describing was moving briskly towards the open gate to the arena, his stride long and meaningful.

Again with the showboating. Teric thought, resigned. He'd been given clear instructions to await his signal from the monks working in tandem with the announcer, and the Grandmaster was making a willful, purposeful point of ignoring those directions. Dressed simply in his boots and pants, with only his chainmail for his torso, the veteran carried his sword in one hand and wore his buckler strapped to his left arm. I'm ready to fight now, so the hell with waiting for some grandstanding announcement to tell me when I'm ready.

"Grandmaster, please wait for the announcement." A tonsured monk was pleading as he backpedalled just ahead of the marching warrior. It was a wonder the man's sandaled feet didn't tread upon the dragging hem of his brown robe, tripping him. "It's all we ask..."

The man raised a hand to Teric's chest, as if to halt the strong-willed mercenary in his tracks. The Grandmaster strode through the weaker man as if he didn't even exist, not so much as pausing as the monk half-stumbled, half-fell to one side.

"Having won...uh..." There was a snag in the announcer's voice as Teric came through the gate ahead of schedule. For a moment there was a lull in the noise of the crowd as onlookers who had been listening to the speech caught sight of the Grandmaster and shifted their attentions to the arena floor. Elijah, the challenger, was obviously still preparing himself, as he was kneeling in the middle of the dirt ring. To his credit, the announcer recovered quickly, jumping right to the end of his longwinded introduction: "Ladies and Gentleman, presenting the reigning, defending Pagoda Grandmaster, Teric Barton!"

Rolling his shoulders and twisting his head first one way, and then the other, Teric wasted no time limbering himself up as the crowd went wild. Seated above the combatants, the din of their cheers and boisterous joy seemed to rumble down on the arena floor like one long roll of thunder.

I'm not here for you. The warrior informed the crowd silently. Sniffing the air appreciatively, Teric could still smell the fiery taint from the glowing red ball of magical fire that had erupted overhead before he'd arrived. That ball of fire, bursting into dozens of butterfly shaped parcels of flame, had been the first hint that perhaps Elijah hadn't been completely dishonest the other night about being a sorcerer.

I hate magic users.

Elijah, almost as if he wasn't keen on leaving anything to question, indeed looked the part of a sorcerer today. The young man's torso was alive with symmetrical lines of what Teric could only surmise was arcane power, and every weapon the man carried seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy. It was unnerving, really, to see a man so young armed and prepared with such obviously potent magic. All things arcane were a bit of a phobia for the old veteran, but luckily he had learned over a lifetime of experience how best to deal with magi...

Alright, Teric. The mercenary breathed. You've seen and dealt with magic users before. They need time to prepare - time to concentrate. Don't give him any...

Without so much as a greeting - he'd gotten his pleasantries out of the way the night before - Teric launched into a bull charge across the dirt floor of the arena, his metal-shod boots pounding a thundering approach as the distance between the two combatants closed with preternatural speed. Leading with his shield, the veteran swept the wooden guard for Elijah's face with meaningful intent, while at the same time bringing his sword in behind to catch the young man with a wide slice should he deflect the buckler.

[Christoph]

Bunnies approved, but not for children with allergies.

Elijah sprang to his feet and forced down a jolt of panic as the Grandmaster appeared at the entrance. This was too soon; the challenger had barely finished the transmutations and desperately needed another few seconds to ready himself. Without the right spells prepared, he would be hard pressed to keep up with Teric in melee combat. His gambit had failed, and he cursed himself a fool. He should have anticipated this. Why would the infamous Bloodrose conform to the Pagoda’s glorified pageantry?

Calm, focus. The Grandmaster charged across the arena like a predator, covering the short distance at an alarming speed. Lacking the time to retrieve his sword, Elijah instead focused his will and arcane skill. He gave a nonchalant, but magically charged wave of his hand, causing a strange distortion in the air in front of him. When Teric’s buckler came crashing forward, it struck an invisible barrier. The crushing force of the blow fractured the shield, but both the practical and psychological effects of stopping an attack with a mere gesture remained.

Teric immediately followed through with his sword. The conjured shield shattered into a thousand ethereal shards, but it blunted the strike just enough for Eli to reach over with his right hand and catch the sweeping blade with his gauntlet. Metal struck metal with a burst of sparks, and for that brief instant, the challenger locked eyes with the Grandmaster. Buried beneath grim determination and focus, he saw something else. Did he see fear in the old man, or was it his own reflection?

Without hesitating, Elijah released Teric’s sword and clenched his left first, unleashing his ring’s stored energy. The air rippled as a mighty surge of kinetic force exploded from the tiny ring, striking the Grandmaster squarely in the chest and sending him sailing back several yards. While blast’s power could have easily mangled a lesser man, Bloodrose would surely suffer little more than a fleeting inconvenience – inconvenience that the challenging sorcerer would exploit.

With a broad, sweeping hand motion, he flung a flurry of fiery bolts across the arena like darts. The spirals of transmuted powder ignited with a violent whoosh and a rush of searing wind. Binding the churning heat and fire to his will, the sorcerer raised his arms into the air like a maestro conducting the climax of a fiery symphony. The flames rose simultaneously, growing and intensifying into roiling inferno.

Tendrils of steam rose from his painfully blistering webbing of scars and scalding sand scoured his skin. The crowd went silent; even the announcer had nothing to say. It had all happened too fast. Did they actually think it might be over? Elijah knew better. Even such an impressive, albeit underhanded, display of power wouldn’t do it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” stammered the announcer, finally composing himself. “We’ve never seen… anything like this before.”

Without wasting an instant, he pressed his armored palms together and muttered an ancient Raiaeran phrase, which roughly translated into ‘I see fire in my soul’s mirror.’ With a blinding burst, two fiery forms took human shape next to him, flickering and contorting at obscene angles. Elijah grinned wickedly at his two fiery shadows; as fast and strong as their master, they would serve him well.

“Seek the Grandmaster and destroy him,” he commanded. The two forms darted into the slowly diminishing conflagration that dominated the arena. They wouldn’t succeed, but they would do enough.

[Bloodrose]

Bunnying of Christoph's fire shadows approved.

And that's precisely why... The thought ran through the mercenary's head almost lazily, as if nonchalantly reconfirming Teric's dislike of magic. His left hand, shield weighing on his arm, hugged the sore ribs beneath his chainmail appreciatively. The invisible shockwave that Elijah had unleashed in such close quarters had forced the air from the Grandmaster's lungs, flung him several feet, and left him gasping for air on the dirt floor of his own arena. Luckily enough, Teric found that the air returned quickly, alleviating the burning in his chest and allowing him to rise in time to safely back away from the impressive display of pyrotechnics his young challenger released next.

What's he up to now? Buying time? Was the mercenary's thought as he circled the raging wall of fire now completely obstructing his view of Elijah. The towering inferno that consumed most of the arena's center appeared quite stationary - posing no harm to the Grandmaster so long as he didn't walk to close to the flames. The heat was impossible - blistering on Teric's face as if he was standing too close to the sun. There was a gentle breeze at the veteran's back as the ever growing wall of flame consumed so much oxygen that it pulled air from the stands above into the center.

Everything smelled like wildfire, and Teric couldn't even hear the crowd behind him over the crackling of the flames.

"Pretty, but you can't hide in your house of flames forever!" Teric yelled at the fire, taunting the Master hiding within. He almost regretted the meaningless verbal jab, as the heat in the arena almost instantly left a dry taste in the Grandmaster's mouth. "Come out and fight me!"

As if summoned by his words, two humanoid shapes seemed to materialize out of the fire - their forms coming to life from the moving tendrils of orange and yellow light. They stalked out of the inferno and approached without caution or hesitation, and Teric could almost swear that he felt their featureless faces staring at him.

You've got to be kidding me. Teric had time to think as the two fiery shadows launched their assault.

FWOOMP! was the sound one demon's arm made as it impacted the flat, protective surface of Teric's shield. Tendrils of flame burst into the air around the edges of the buckler - hot embers stinging as they landed on Teric's face and in his beard - but the shadow's arm stopped as any corporeal, physical limb would. That simple fact alone gave the Grandmaster the resolve necessary to ignore the fact that he was engaging two beings summoned from fire...

Teric's immediate counter caught the first creature in the midriff - the keen blade of his sword flashing along the underside of his shield as he attacked the shadow that had struck his buckler. White-hot flame flashed from the location of the wound, and the monster stepped back, but the victory was short lived. The second creature struck the veteran in the ribs on the right side of his chest with a fist made of fire; injuring Teric with both the force and the heat of the blow.

"You bastard!" Teric spat, lowering his shoulder to favor his right side as he brought his sword around to bear. Shadow number two slipped away as quickly as it had struck, leaving the first monster - still bleeding white tendrils of fire - to make a bid for the old man's legs. The veteran felt hot pain on the back of his left calf as the creature kicked him in the back of the leg in an attempt to fell him. Without the expressive capabilities of a face with features, Teric found it impossible to tell if the creature was surprised that the old man didn't fall; all the mercenary knew was the flame-man paused.

"Kraah!" The monster born from flame made a terrible screaming sound as Teric's mythril blade neatly separated its head from its body in a smooth, single strike. White whips of flame seemed to leap and play between the two parted sections of the creature's body - almost as if the flames were trying to hold the two pieces together - before the head finally toppled off its shoulders. The slain creature's body fell in a heap at Teric's feet, the humanoid figure dissolving into an indistinguishable pile of ashes.

"Ah!" With one creature down, Teric turned on the second just in time to catch a fiery appendage to the face. Lights danced in front of the mercenary's left eye as he got caught by a right hook, the flames on the monster's arm singeing away both grey hair and beard. The blow was hard enough to knock the temporarily blinded Grandmaster off balance, and again the flame-creature danced just out of range as soon as Teric tried to counter with his blade. By fortune of escaping injury thus far, the sole remaining shadow was as easy to hit as a dancing candle flame.

Rotten little shit. The Grandmaster blinked rapidly to clear his blurry vision - the watery haze in front of his eyes fading much quicker in one than the other. Singed, burned, sore, and favoring his right side, Teric watched on grudgingly as the flame-man shook his blank head at him in an obviously mocking gesture. He takes well after his master.

Teric whipped his blade through the air in front of him, trying not to crack a smile as the fiery demon standing well out of range seemed to pause as if confused. There was no way the mercenary's saber was going to reach the creature from where he was standing, but luckily the Grandmaster's foe noticed too late the twin blades of air ripping through the distance standing between them.

With enough force to blast through titanium plate, the X-shaped air blades tore through the flame-man as if he was made of paper, scattering the summoned creature's body to the wind.

"Come'on Elijah!" Teric shouted, casting his gaze around trying locate the young sorcerer. The raging inferno that had shielded the young man before was slowly but surely dying like a campfire lacking the fuel to keep burning. Soon enough the flames would come lower than Teric was tall, and in that instant he would be able to locate and fix his attention on the Master. "I'm here to fight you - not your pets you coward!"

[Christoph]

Bunnies approved in all fifty states.

Metal and flesh battled flame and embers beyond the burning threshold, buying Elijah precious time to complete his arcane machinations. With focused resolve and chanted words, the sorcerer took hold of the threads of reality and tied them to his will. With a series of simple, yet potent charms, he pulled the currents of magic into his body, changing and expanding his physical capacities well beyond the normal limits. His muscles tightened, he felt lighter, and his movements became dazzlingly swift. Finally, an unnatural sheen enveloped his skin as it became as strong as steel.

He felt the destruction of his fiery shadows like a rending in his soul, but he completed his spells through the pangs of ethereal harm. In those several essential seconds, his magic transformed him from a sorcerer and warrior with notable athletic aptitudes to a superhuman combatant. And when the Grandmaster shouted his chiding challenge, Elijah was ready to meet it; the crowd wanted a real fight more than a display of pyrotechnics, and the charismatic challenger intended to deliver. He would beat Teric in his own venue.

Grasping his sword for the first time since the battle began, the Master sprinted toward the slowly diminishing flames. With wind under his feet, he soared over them in a single breathtaking leap. From midair, he caught sight of the Teric and hurled a swirling javelin of fire, which struck the arena floor like the fist of a god in a fierce explosion. The old man evaded the blast with impressive agility, but Elijah was already upon him. The challenger darted forward and lashed out with his sword in a blinding arc.

A clear ring resonated through the arena as prevalida struck mithril, inches from drawing blood. Elijah swallowed a curse; even battered, burned, and off-balance, the Grandmaster was perhaps even better than the rumors suggested. While great news for the spectators, it didn’t bode well for the challenger. Up in the stands, money had no doubt begun changing hands.

Elijah grinned, unwilling to show his opponent any weakness or doubt, and went again on the offensive. The crowd shouted appreciatively at the escalating melee. The challenger attacked with all the unpredictable fury of a wildfire, but he may has have been trying to beat back the ocean's tide. With his spells, Eli easily matched his foe’s speed, but lacked Teric’s natural control. The Grandmaster’s movements flowed effortlessly like water, against the Master’s sputtering, flickering flame. With buckler and sword, the old veteran countered or deflected Eli’s every move.

In trying to overwhelm his opponent’s defenses, Elijah got sloppy. He thrust too far, and Teric knocked his sword aside with his buckler, opening the Master’s guard. Mithril swept through the air in a blur and Eli couldn’t dodge fast enough. The crowd gasped as Teric’s sword struck the Master’s face in a blow that should have cleaved his head in two like a ripe melon. Instead, sparks flew as the impact cracked Eli’s cheekbone and sent him sailing back. For a second, the stands went silent. Then, he stood back up, blood seeping from a gash that looked closer to a crack in rock than a flesh wound, and the crowd erupted in deafening cheers.

Eli focused through the pain and checked his rising rage, knowing that anger would only result in more mistakes. I am a forge, not a wildfire, he thought, breathing deeply and calmly. As if reflecting his thoughts, his blade took on the orange glow of a branding iron and fire began dancing about his feet. The Master advance d steadily, his blade dancing through the air in a rapid, but controlled flurry of glowing metal, harrying the Grandmaster. Eli pressed forward patiently, knowing that even the smallest cut would burst into flames, charring his foe’s flesh and blood.

[Bloodrose]

I don't know why we keep saying, since we made it clear at the top, but the bunnying is approved!

Teric couldn't help but crack a wry smile as the razor edge of his blade caught Elijah high on the cheekbone. While normally it would have been a lethal blow - especially considering the force the mercenary was capable of putting into every strike - Teric couldn't help but notice that scoring a hit against the young Master's flesh felt more like hitting stone than skin and bone. Rather than crumple to the ground like a man with half his skull hewn off, Elijah simply stumbled back as if stunned.

The young Master righted himself almost instantly, fixing Teric with an angry stare. Rather than blood and ruined flesh, the mercenary found that his expert blade had only cracked Elijah's youthful visage. The challenger might as well have been cast from iron - a living statue - and the recognition of that fact was unnerving to say the least.

Piss. Teric thought, the smile on his face quickly souring as he was forced to reevaluate just how difficult it was going to be to bring his challenger down. That sour disposition was only multiplied by the orange, obviously arcane glow that consumed the Master's runed blade as he didn't hesitate to come back for more. Fire born from the ether leapt to life around his challenger's feet, and Teric found himself taking a cautious step back to try and keep some distance between the two of them.

He's obviously skilled with his magic. Teric pondered almost redundantly, as anyone with functioning eyes could already tell Elijah was a born sorcerer. Interesting that he applies that magic to bettering himself as a melee fighter - rather than taking the classical route arcane...

In a way, Teric was very much glad that Elijah opted to use his supernatural prowess to pump up his physical strength and dexterity. Rather than be forced to dodge fireballs and continue to contend with summoned familiars, the mercenary was far more comfortable locking blades with the Master in a classical duel. Metal sang as they thrust and parried, sliced and evaded - their footwork careful and precise. It also didn't diminish the Grandmaster's relief any to realize early on that he was the better man with a sword, nor did it disappoint him when Elijah continued to opt for the martial route. He could have easily reverted back to fire-shadows and searing walls of witchfire, but Teric was somewhat impressed by the younger man's dogged determination to fight the elder, more experienced swordsman on somewhat even terms.

Complete admiration for the Master's choice in tactics was undermined by a single, burning question however: Would his choices have been the same if he didn't know he could take a direct blow like that?

I doubt it. The mercenary was forced to conclude, sweeping away a quick but sloppy thrust from Elijah. Teric countered with a backhanded cut to the midriff, and by virtue of his speed alone was the Master able to step back and avoid what would have normally been a disemboweling cut. If I'd been able to kill him as easily as I'd hoped, the boy would have gone back to slinging spells the instant he realized I was superior with a blade.

And it was obvious Elijah had reached that same realization the first time Grandmaster and Master had locked blades.

While their differences in physical speed and brawn were negligible at this point, one couldn't for a second discount the monumental difference in experience between the two men. While technically excellent in his ability to wield a blade, Elijah simply could not overcome the thirty-odd years of combat familiarity the veteran held over him. Anything the Master threw at him, Teric had seen before a hundred times. It would be going too far to say that the mercenary found it easy to fend off his younger foe, but at the same time the veteran was only truly tested to defend himself when he overextended to make a tricky counter or unexpected jab. His possession of a shield, while Elijah possessed none, also worked heavily in the Grandmaster's favor.

However, Teric was forced to concede that the flames now dancing at Elijah's feet did tip the scales in the Master's favor. Whereas before he had been able to step inside the younger man's guard and counter easily as Elijah was forced to recover from an expert parry, the flames now kept the mercenary at bay like a loyal dog. Anytime he tried to take a shot at an opening in the Master's defenses, the flames were there; licking at his fingers and sword arm like the tongues of some demon. More than once, as Elijah offered himself up to many chances for a decent counter, the hungry flames caught Teric's hand well enough to sear the older man's flesh. The witchfire stung like nothing the veteran could describe, and it was through sheer force of will alone that he managed to hold onto his sword sometimes. Gradually the fire forced Teric into a defensive retreat, mythril fending off the Master's blade while only the distance between them could parry off the flames...

Elijah's first score was one to the Grandmaster's shield arm as the veteran raised his protective barrier too high. A simple mistake, and one easy to make as their duel dragged on. The physically exhausting nature of their high-speed fight was beginning to take its toll on the older man, and even before Teric could sense the awful, burning nature of the gash on his forearm, Elijah had delivered a second mid-thigh...

Bastard! Teric's mind screamed as his blood boiled. The pain was intense, almost debilitating, and Elijah instinctively pressed in for the kill. It was all Teric could do to keep his battered shield between the two of them as Master forced Grandmaster to one knee, the older man struggling to keep his feet beneath him as the cuts delivered to his limbs smoldered and screamed as if they'd been inflicted by a red-hot branding iron.

Thunk... thunk... thunk... was the sound of Elijah's two-handed, over the shoulder chops on Teric's shield. The crowd seemed to sense that the battle was nearing its final crescendo as the Master fervently hacked away at Teric's only defense in the manner of a woodsman; his sword an axe and the Grandmaster a chunk of firewood waiting to be split. The flames at Elijah's feet lapped eagerly at the leather and steel of Teric's boots as he braced his sword hand - hilt and all - against the dirt floor of the arena for leverage.

This was a fight nearing its lethal conclusion, and both men could feel it as clearly as they could hear the crowd screaming for blood overhead...

He's caught up in the moment! Teric's experience told him as Elijah hammered away. In his furious, youthful eagerness to destroy his opponent, Elijah didn't seem to notice that he'd fallen into a dangerously repetitive pattern. Like clockwork another axe-blow fell from overhead onto the eklan surface of the Grandmaster's shield, this particular blow cleaving into the edge and fracturing the shield. Ready, and without hesitation, as he could afford none, Teric snaked his sword out from beneath his now broken cover and aimed a desperate hacking slash at the young Master's knee.

If one looked carefully, one would notice that the razor edge of Teric's weapon rippled with power; a wavy distortion in the air akin to heat rising off the sandy dunes of Fallien. If he failed to topple the Master with this strike, Teric was almost certain that the younger man's next blow - already poised overhead like a waiting serpent - would smash through what little remained of his shield and bring this battle to a violent, sudden close...